


Come morning light

by elareine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Discussion of Addiction and Mental Health Issues, Fears of misgendering (no actual instance), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Phone Calls & Telephones, Protectiveness, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans Roy Harper, there are some parenting choices made in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: Ten times Roy, Jason, and Dick protect each other.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	Come morning light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobiismycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiismycat/gifts).



_One_

Jason’s ready to vibrate out of his skin. They’re going to the Titans Tower. How cool is that? Sure, it’s only to gather some intel and offer cooperation on a common enemy—or so Bruce says.

(Jason suspects it’s code for “I miss Dick and don’t know how to tell him that. “Why else would Bruce have waited until Nightwing returns from a solo mission to suggest visiting the Tower?) 

Doesn’t matter. Jason is excited. 

Dick is always fighting with Bruce, so Jason doesn’t see him much. After those first few months, he was always nice to Jason, though. Maybe they’re not brothers, exactly, but Jason doesn’t give a shit. Bruce isn’t exactly his father, either, and he’s still pretty good. Dick doesn’t need to be perfect for Jason to like him. 

…okaaay. So Jason thinks Nightwing is the coolest. The way Dick fights is just amazing. If Bruce is like a tank, Dick is like a hurricane. And he’s smart, too! Jason’s spent hours reading his old case files, trying to learn how to be a good detective from them. 

Of course, everything goes to shit as soon as Batman and Robin arrive. 

“What are you doing here?” Dick asks as soon as they enter, and the conversation doesn’t get any friendlier from there. 

Jason can tell that Bruce and Dick are trying to keep their arguments away from the others. Well, Dick is. Jason is familiar with the signs (too familiar, and thinking of his mother still _hurts_ ), so he doesn’t protest when the other Titans herd him out of the room. 

There’s some silent communication—the kind that tells Jason that these people are actually _friends_ , and he tries really hard not to be jealous at that—and then one of the boys, Speedy, steps forward. The costume is pretty stupid (Robin Hood much? Is he trying to bait a bull?) and goes terrible with that hair, but he’s got a nice smile and some cute freckles. 

“Wanna join me at the target range, Robin?” 

Jason shrugs. “Why not.” 

As they walk over to the range, Speedy nudges his side. “I’m Roy, by the way.” 

Jason nods, says: “Cool,” and doesn’t introduce himself. He’s not supposed to do that. The older boy doesn’t seem bothered by it. 

Roy is, as it turns out, pretty cool. Well. A smarmy fuckboy, Jason guesses, but he’s really fucking good with his arrow, and his jokes are funny enough to make up for it. They don’t do much, just shooting at moving targets with increasingly stupid contraptions. Jason discovers that he actually has a decent aim with a crossbow, so that’s neat. 

Finally, Bruce calls him on the communication. “Robin, we’re leaving.” 

He doesn’t sound happy. Jason’s tempted to just stay down at the range, to tell Bruce that he’ll catch up with him later, but… he threw his lot in with Batman, and that’s what he gets for it. He and Roy make their way up the flight deck, where everyone is gathered. 

Dick is still trying his best to make peace, it seems. “That was a good catch. Gotham will be safer with that gang behind bars.” 

“No thanks to you,“ Bruce says, and that’s his guilt-trip voice. 

Jason hates that voice, and his reply slips out before he can think about it. “What? Because you’re in the thick of it, with your rich-boy mansion at the outskirts of town?“ 

Bruce turns to him and stares. 

Jason would be scared, except behind Bruce, Donna Troy has literally slapped her hand over her own mouth to choke her laughter, and Wally is giving him a thumbs-up. More importantly, Dick has lost that terrible expression, the one where he’s trying to be stoic to mask the hurt. That’s enough to counter the growing dread in Jason’s stomach, the conviction that _This is it, this is the day he throws you out—_

_So what_ , he tells himself. _I’ve survived before. I will again._

He meets Bruce’s eyes without flinching. 

After a moment, Bruce turns back to Dick, acting as if nothing happened. “We’ll let you know if there are any developments.” 

“Have a good flight.” 

With a nod, Bruce gets into the plane. 

Jason gives a tentative wave to the group and turns to follow. Before he’s taken more than three steps, he’s stopped by arms wrapping loosely around him from behind. 

“Please tell Alfred you called it a rich-boy mansion,” Dick chuckles, his entire body shaking with suppressed laughter. “He’ll get a kick out of that.” 

“We both know it’s _his_ mansion, really.” Jason can feel the grin stretch over his face. It feels nice, knowing that he pleased the older boy. 

Dick lets go, turning Jason around with a gentle hand on his shoulder to look at him. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?” 

The other Titans say good-bye, too, still awkward, though sincerely friendly. Roy hangs back, only walking up to Jason when the others have stepped back. He’s smirking, and Jason bristles before Roy even ruffles his hair. 

“Maybe you’re not so bad, kid. “ 

_Two_

Most of the time, their enemies don’t exactly announce themselves. This invading band of ogres seems to have an honor system going, though, so the Titans have plenty of time to prepare themselves. There’s even a pre-battle speech. Roy’s enjoying the heck out of it. 

“Everyone has their beacons?” Donna asks. “I don’t want any of you getting lost again.” 

Roy kinda takes exception to the ‘you’ and ‘again,’ here, but… He shoots Wally a look, and his fellow redhead does the flickering thing that means he moved without anyone noticing. Then he nods, face serious. 

This is ridiculous. Luckily, Roy has never let that stop him before. 

(He just feels better, knowing that Dick actually carries his beacon on him and didn’t ‘forget.’ It has happened too often since Robin II died. So sue him.) 

Ooops. Donna is still talking. Roy zooms back in just in time to join the call: “Let’s go!” 

The plan they’ve settled on has Roy on the roof next to the anticipated landing spot, right above Dick, Garth, and Donna. They’re gonna go for the attacking group’s right flank; keep them contained, direct them toward Kory, who has a bit of sway with these kinds of aliens still and will hopefully roast some sense into their leaders. 

Roy settles into his spot, his bow ready. He takes the first wave out himself with a few explosions. His next target is the large personnel carrier; it makes a satisfying bang as it goes. After, the battle is too close, so he has to settle on taking out individual enemy fighters. At least it gives him enough space for his own personal observation task. 

Watching Dick fight is a little like watching porn. Well, it isn’t; it just has roughly the same effect on Roy. The dude is like poetry in motion, as cliché as that thought is. He’s fast, he employs a variety of styles that make him utterly unpredictable, and he moves as if gravity doesn’t apply to him. Roy has seen people actually capable of flight who were less light on their feet than Dick. 

As if all of that isn’t enough, Dick is _smart._ Roy watches him take out three enemy opponents at once with a move that looked like something out of a chess game. Forget lethal weapons—Dick never comes close to killing anyone, and yet, Roy thinks, he’s one of the most dangerous people there are, just because of his brain. 

And then it happens. 

If Roy wasn’t looking for it, he probably would miss the signs. Dick gets into the fight. Like, really gets into it, more than he used to. And his rage, his temper, whatever it is—it means he’s not moving carefully anymore. 

It takes less than five minutes for the attackers to separate Dick from the other ground fighters. Roy, who has watched this man fight for years, knows they wouldn’t have managed this six months ago. 

Dick takes down two more fighters—and behind him, an ogre raises his ax, ready to strike him down. 

He won’t get the chance. An arrow pierces his eye, and he falls to the ground, the sound smothered by the shouts and yells and clangs of battle. 

Dick doesn’t even notice. He’s still charging, still attacking, still doesn’t seem to care whether he lives or dies. 

That’s okay. Roy has Dick’s back. The other Titans… they haven’t spoken about this, but no-one has called him out on being a bit more targeted with his long-range efforts these days. They clearly know. Donna literally sent him after Dick three days ago. So yeah, Roy will keep the dumbass safe for as long as he needs to. 

He just wishes he knew what the fuck Dick’s feeling so guilty about. 

_Three_

The phone rings again. 

Technically, Dick is busy. He’s working two different cases, patrol will start in less than an hour, and he just came home from his shift. Most of his commute home was devoted to deciding between dinner and casework, and casework won. On top of that, Bruce is worried about a new player in Gotham who seems intent on cleaning up the streets in the most brutal way possible. Dick fully anticipates being called back to assist the family any day now. 

But when Black Canary calls you, you better pick up. Besides, Dick knows exactly who Dinah would call next if he doesn’t answer. 

“Dinah, hi. “ 

“Hey, Dick, how’s it going?” 

“The usual. How are you?” 

“Same.” Pleasantries barely out of the way, Dinah comes straight to the point. “So here’s the thing. We know Roy’s been staying in that clinic for four weeks now. Got the address and everything. Yet, when we call, we’re told the patient doesn’t want to be contacted or have his information given out.” 

“Then that’s what Roy must’ve said.” 

“Oli’s his guardian. He’s got a right to this information.” 

“Not anymore.” Guardianship, unlike adoption, ends when the child in question becomes an adult. Dick would know. 

“But—he’s not answering his cell phone, how else are we supposed to speak with him?” 

“Dinah, do you really think forcing Roy to talk to you will improve the situation?” 

“I—“ Dinah exhales. There’s a low whistle in it, and Dick tries not to wince. 

He doesn’t interrupt her silence, just lets her think it out. Finally, she tells him, voice defeated: “Olli is out of his mind with worry.” 

“I know.” Dick does. Olli, he… he fucked up, and he’s been visibly regretting it ever since. Dick doesn’t doubt for a second that he would do everything to make things right with Roy. None of that changes the fact that Roy doesn’t want to see him, though. “I can’t tell you any more.” 

Dinah is silent. Dick has no idea what he’ll do if she actually applies the thumbscrew. He hasn’t argued with Black Canary before on account of not being stupid. 

“Alright, Dick. If you think he’ll want to hear, let him know I called, okay?” 

“Sure.” 

The call ends. Dick considers things for a moment. Running interference is all well and good, and he’s been doing it for weeks. However, from what she said… He selects another contact in his phone book. 

Roy picks up immediately, and Dick can’t help but chuckle. “Bored, Roy?” 

“To death,” his friend laughs. “Not much to do here that satisfies an adrenaline junkie like me.” 

Dick thinks back to the last time he was laid up with a broken leg and shudders in sympathy. “Ugh, I bet.” 

“At least I haven’t started climbing any chandeliers yet.” 

“Let’s not talk about that.” 

“Hehe, alright.” Roy’s voice turned soberer. “I was… I was also looking at the phone because I was getting calls.” 

Ah.

“Yeah, Dinah called me, too.” There’s a sharp intake of breath, but no words, so Dick adds: “She won’t again unless you want her to.” 

“…thanks, Dick.” 

“Roy. _Of course._ “ Dick can’t help the way his voice goes soft. He doesn’t know at which point Roy lost his confidence—at which point he forgot that his friends love him. That _Dick_ loves him, in every way there is. 

(Well. He knows. Donna’s death fucked them all up.) 

“Anyway. “Dick leans back, casework and patrol forgotten. “You had your first group session today, right? How was it? “ 

_Four_

Jason’s bleeding. 

The harsh light of the warehouse tints everything slightly green, so it takes Roy a moment to notice. There’s a slowly spreading stain on Jason’s abdomen, and that—that shouldn’t be happening. Roy has personally made sure that the uniform is triple-reinforced. Their last enemy contact was over an hour ago, the last one where said enemies were armed enough to break through that layer protection at least two. 

Jason’s bleeding and Roy has no idea for how long. 

“Jesus fuck—“ he curses even as he reaches out. 

Jason jokes, “Just Jason is fine,” but he also lets Roy take off his jacket and inspect the wound, so he’s probably not doing so hot. 

That suspicion is confirmed when Roy pulls up the shirt none-too-gently and Jason winces. That’s a nine on the vigilante pain scale, then. (Twelve for normal people.) Roy swears again when his fingers are immediately covered in blood. It looks like a stab wound, not too big but disconcertingly deep. 

Roy forces himself to keep breathing even as he presses against Jason’s stomach. No hardening, thank god. It might be okay. The knife, sword, whatever-it-was might have missed any organs; might’ve not punctured Jason’s abdominal wall, might have missed Jason’s lungs, on the other side, and his arteries, might not have injured anything but soft, vulnerable flesh and muscle. 

Maybe. 

What they need, Roy knows, is a doctor. No, scratch that, they need a well-equipped hospital, or anywhere that can do an x-ray and tell them that it will be alright, and save Jason’s life if it isn’t.

“It’s not that bad,” Jason tells him. “I wouldn’t have kept walking if it was.” 

“You just hate hospitals.” 

“Eh, you got me.” 

“I could call…“ Roy offers softly. 

“No.“ The reply is immediate, a harsh gust of breath. “Don’t.”

Jason doesn’t say _please_ , likely never will, but Roy hears it clear as day. And Dick—no matter what happened between them recently, he’s one of Roy’s best friends, someone Roy has loved as long as he can remember. He knows that if he calls Dick, shelter and medical help are not far away. 

But Jason needs Roy. He needs Roy; he has asked for just Roy, and what he wants, _needs_ more than anything, is loyalty. Roy wants to give him that, that and everything else he deserves besides. 

( _And_ , a voice in his head asks, _are you really sure Dick won’t tell Bruce?_ ) 

So the reply is easy. “Alright, Jaybird, I won’t. Let’s get you bandaged up, then, and maybe we can head out in the morning. I’m beat.“ 

Silently, Roy promises himself: _Unless you get worse._

“Hmm.” Jason lists to the side, just a bit, and Roy rapidly revises his plans. The bedroom is too far away. 

“C’mon, buddy, just sit down on the couch and I’ll get the kit.” 

“There’s no need,” Jason grumbles. He’s moving toward the couch, though, so Roy feels okay about leaving him for the minute it takes to get their well-stocked aid kit. Why are they not keeping that right by the entrance again? Seems like a grievous oversight right now. 

When he comes back, Jason has taken his boots and shirt off and is sitting on the couch, clad in his pants. Usually, that’s a sight Roy would be more than happy to be distracted by; tonight, his gaze flies to the wound. Is it just his imagination, or is it bleeding more sluggishly? 

He stitches Jason up with steady hands. 

After, they sit next to each other in silence. Roy thinks about reaching out, about offering to help Jay to bed, when Jason just… tips over. It’s too deliberate to be a faint, too slow to be anything but controlled, though the sigh Jason gives when he settles onto his uninjured side belies the movement’s necessity. 

Roy very carefully doesn’t move. He’s still wearing leather pants, his binder is starting to dig in and hurt, but all of that pales in comparison to the man pressing his head against his thigh. He never intended to sleep tonight, anyway. 

“Get some rest, okay?” He can’t help the way his hand moves to cup Jason’s face, thumb on his pulse, fingers framing Jason’s cheek as if it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held. “I’m here.” 

Jason doesn’t reply in words. Instead, his eyes close, and that’s—that’s the kind of gift Roy still doesn’t know how to handle. His heart hurts in a way he’s not used to anymore. See, this is why he won’t ever understand Bruce and the fucking rest of them. Jason is so _young._ How can they turn their backs like this? 

“I’m here, “he repeats softly. “Not gonna leave. I promise. “

_Five_

Jason knows he’s not the caretaker in this relationship. Sure, he’s the one who encourages Roy to eat and sleep and do all the general functional-human-being things, but Roy does the majority of the emotional work, usually with an easy grin and enough jokes that no-one has to get awkward about it. 

Today, that grin seems years away. 

Fucking fear gas. Jason hates it so much, and he’s _trained_ to withstand it. Roy is terrifyingly well-equipped to handle all sorts of things, but not this. Never this. 

Here’s something every single vigilante in Gotham knows but never talks about: the come-down is worse than the ride. Scarecrow, he’s made it too strong over the years. While the toxin is in full swing, you _know_ it’s an illusion, the kind of feverish nightmare that cannot be real. After, though… 

After, the emptiness sets in. 

Jason can see it in Roy’s eyes. It makes him feel as helpless as only one other situation ever has. 

He’s gentle as he takes off Roy’s belt and hair tie, trying to get him more comfortable. Undressing, he thinks, might not be a good idea and Roy shivers when he looks at the blankets, so Jason offers Roy one of his sweatshirts instead. 

There’s something like a smile on the redhead’s face when he takes it. “I’m getting the boyfriend sweater treatment, huh?” 

“Yeah, Roy. You are.” 

“Thanks.” 

The red of the sweatshirt clashes horribly with Roy’s hair. Still, he looks almost comfortable as he settles on their bed, curled up on his side, so who cares. 

Then the shaking starts again, and Jason just knows Roy is crying. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. 

If Jason thought that any drug would help Roy feel better, he’d buy it in a heartbeat. Fuck any society standards, fuck what anyone thinks, fuck ‘sliding back into addiction,’ even—they got the money, and if it helps… 

But it won’t. Jason’s mom taught him that. 

So he slides over and wraps himself around Roy like an affectionate sloth, clinging on with enough strength to make sure the older man feels it. “I’m here,” he whispers, and Roy chokes on a sob. 

It’s hard to tell how long they lie there, Roy clutching his hand to his chest, crying himself out until he finally falls asleep. It takes even longer for Jason to quiet down, to stop telling Roy that he’s important, that he’s not alone, that he won’t ever be. It’s the first thing he noticed about Roy Harper, back when they met again in Jason’s second life. How lonely he is. 

Jason knows he helps with that. He _knows_. Roy shows him every day. 

That’s why it’s easy to walk out the door and pick up the phone. 

“Red Hood?“ Dick’s voice is carefully guarded when he takes the call. Out as Nightwing, then. 

“Hey, Dick,“ Jason says as if this is totally normal. He doesn’t know how to handle this any other way. “Uh. Do you think you could come to Star City?“

“What happened?” 

“Tear gas. Roy got hit earlier, and—“ 

“What? How did that happen? Do you need me to help locate him? Is he okay?” 

“I don’t—” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Dick’s just worried cause he cares for Roy so fucking much. Jason can do this. “He’s sleeping, and it’ll be okay, but—I think it would be good. To have you here when he wakes up.“

“Of course.” Dick is quiet for a moment. Jason can hear the sounds of movement, though. “Did he… did he talk about what he saw?” 

“Not precisely.” It goes against every single one of Jason’s instincts to share these things. However, Dick wants to help. He _will_ help, and he needs all the information Jason can give him to do that. Roy trusts Dick, Jason reminds himself. “It’s… we talked about it before. How the thing both of us see is always ourselves.” 

“Jason—“

Jason keeps talking, faster now. “Earlier, he was asking what he did. Why he’s such a bad person that he made everyone leave him.” 

There’s a small, hurt sound through the line. “We didn’t—we didn’t leave him. _I_ didn’t leave him.”

“I know you didn’t.” It’s easy to say because it’s the truth. He’s seen the messages, the unanswered calls, the easy back-and-forth and genuine interest in the eyes of Roy’s old friends. It’s… it’s hard. Not to worry about how easy it would be for Roy to return to them and leave Jason behind. “But. Fear gas.” 

“Not to mention the severe abandonment issues.” Dick’s tone is dry. 

Jason appreciates the attempt for levity, but he also knows that he’ll say this once or never, so he just shoulders on: “Look, I know you don’t like me. I, uh—I don’t care if you don’t like me. Just don’t punish Roy for that. I’m not gonna leave him, but if you want, I can, like, stay in another room or something.”

It’ll kill him—his fingers are already itching to hold Roy’s again—but Jason’s done worse. 

“Are you finished?” Dick’s sounding a little acerbic. “I’m not gonna kick you out of your own home, Jason. This is _Roy,_ of course I’m coming. ETA in two hours and three minutes.” 

Jason feels some of the tension leave him. Figures that Goldie would be good about this, including apparently breaking all the street limits. That route should take him at least three hours. “Alright. Thanks.” 

“Thanks for calling.“ Dick’s voice is suddenly gentle. Jason knows it must’ve been like that when talking about or with him, too, once upon a time; he just can’t remember. It was so long ago. 

“Yeah. “He swallows. “See you later. “ 

_Six_

There’s a new animal in the Batcave. Dick wonders if Bruce has noticed yet. The newbie looks a lot like the mouse Damian brought home last week. Chuck-E has a slight brown tint to his fur, though, and also is not a gerbil. 

Eh. Not his problem. Dick doesn’t live at the Manor anymore. He only drops on from time to time. Blüdhaven is his home now, and Dick is honest enough with himself to know that it’s better for him to be away from this… family, for lack of a better word. He’ll team up with them for bigger stuff or inter-city missions, like this new group trying to take over part of the illegal weapons trade in the state. 

One thing he doesn’t miss when he’s working alone is the long briefings. The only reason there’s any need for them is that Bruce never shares his shit right away. Dick keeps zoning out, and he only returns to the conversation when he hears: 

“—and then this group of fourteen men and women was taken out by Red Hood.” 

“Taken out?” Tim asks. 

“Killed.” Bruce flicks a finger, and the image on the screen in front of them changes to what can only be described as a massacre. 

Dick frowns, disappointed for no good reason. “Red Hood was captured on tape?” 

“There wasn’t any.” 

Wait. “A confession, then? Ballistics?” 

But Bruce shakes his head. “Unconfirmed.” 

“So why are you sure it was him?” 

This is familiar—Dick is always challenging Bruce, after all, daring him to go deeper, be better. What’s new is that Bruce sighs as if Dick is being stupid and explains: “It fits his signature. These kinds of lives are worthless to him.” 

And that just doesn’t sit right with Dick. Maybe it’s the image of Jason, washed out and grey in the light of the dawn, but smiling at Roy. Perhaps it’s the memory of “I don’t care if you don’t like me. Just don’t punish Roy for that, “or even the younger man’s steadily decreasing kill rate, now that he’s taken care of the big players. 

Maybe it’s the echo of that kid wearing Dick’s costume, smiling at him as if he’d hung the moon. 

Whatever it is, Dick speaks before he can think about his words. “That’s not true.” 

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m aware you have friendship ties to that group, but I have to stay impartial.” 

“ _Impartial?_ You—“ Dick takes a deep breath and still can’t force his next words to be calm. “You haven’t been impartial about Jason for ten years. This doesn’t fit his signature, and you have no evidence it was him. Do you even know if he’s in the city?” 

“He’s got a point.” When everyone turns to look at Duke, he shrugs. “These people were underlings, young folk being recruited into their first gang. Hood isn’t known for killing that type.” 

“There’s more CCTV in that area than in all of Metropolis combined,” Tim adds. “Few people could move through the neighborhood without leaving a trace. I’ll look through the footage and identify alternate suspects.” 

To everyone’s surprise, Damian moves over to Tim. “I’ll view it with you. Grayson and I have worked in the area before, and I have an excellent memory for faces.” 

“Thank you. I’ll go re-examine the crime scene.” Implying he didn’t do the forensics properly is the ultimate fuck-you to Batman, Dick knows, though he can’t bring himself to care. It’s an excuse to leave the room, at least.

It just—it worries him, that’s all. Would any of the others have spoken up if Dick hadn’t? Is Bruce raising them to be silent? And then there’s the Jason thing, the way Bruce seemed so _convinced_ —

His hand is going for his phone before he’s decided who to call. Not all that many people would _get_ it thought. Kori will be on his side, he knows. Maybe a little too much; she’s been threatening to have a ‘talk’ with Bruce for months, and Dick knows that he’s not in a mood to stop her right now. So that leaves… 

“What’s up?” Roy’s tone is that mixture of warmth and caution that means he doesn’t know if this is a friendly, business, or threatening call. Dick tries not to be exasperated about the last possibility _still_ being included. 

“B’s being a douchebag.” 

“Nooo. Really.” 

“Huge surprise, I know.” Dick hesitates but decides to check: “Jason didn’t kill anyone in the harbor last night, didn’t he? “ 

Roy, of course, is as blunt as ever. “No, he didn’t. And you know that. “ 

Dick sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. “

“I assume Bruce doesn’t?” Roy sounds sympathetic now.

Normally, this would be Dick’s cue to rant. He’s lost all desire for it, though. God, he’s tired. 

“They’ve just built this narrative,“ he finally says. “Kinda drives me mad cause it means they’re not looking at the actual person.“ 

Roy is silent for a moment, and Dick wonders if he crossed a line here. Roy knows all about the idea vs. the reality of a person, after all.

“God, you’re so fucking smart, you know that?”

“Eh. All that detective stuff has to be good for something.” Dick clears his throat. “Speaking of which, I’m on my way to properly process the scenes. The kids are helping. The charge won’t stick, in case that, like, worries Jason.” Not that the man doesn’t have plenty of warrants out against him, anyway. 

“Considering he wasn’t even in Gotham, I don’t think he’s losing any sleep over it, but thanks.” 

“He doesn’t come here often anymore, does he?” Dick realizes. With how little he himself is in the city, he didn’t notice at first, but now that he thinks about reported Red Hood sightings of the last months, it seems obvious. 

“Nah, he’s.” There’s a rustling sound, and Dick just knows that Roy is running his hand over his face, back down over his hair, like he does when he’s got feelings and is slightly frustrated with himself about expressing them. “He’s just doing his thing, you know? I don’t fully get it, but he’s been limiting his time in Gotham to carefully planned raids and hits, and I think he’s the better for it. Happier, I mean. Yeah.” 

“Good.” Dick realizes he’s smiling. “That’s—that’s good.” 

“It really is. You know, Dick… maybe you should stop by. See for yourself. “ 

With a laugh, Dick replies: “I don’t think Jason would appreciate me just dropping by for breakfast.” 

“Make it dinner, then, and bring some beer.” Roy pauses. “When your case is over, alright? That’s an order.” 

Dick considers it. “You know what? I just might.” 

_Seven_

“And then—can you believe it—she said: I would like to see that, Mr. Amstell! “A snort. “I’d like to see that! Hah, so would I—not. “ 

Somehow, from somewhere, Dick manages to dreg up a smile. “Sounds awful. “ 

He can’t remember the last time he slept. There was that case with the kidnapped social worker—and the Arkham escape—and then Deadshot had… Yeah. Dick’s been awake for long enough that even he has to acknowledge that he’s tired. 

Okay, that, and the copious amounts of concealer he had to slather on earlier might’ve been a hint, too. 

Not that his conversation partner seems to notice—which is surprising, considering how close to Dick Amstell (“Call me Eric.”) insists on standing. If this were any other scenario, Dick would be slapping Amstell’s hands away right about now, but as it is… 

“It really was.” Amstell sighs. “Anyway, I said—“

“Ah, Dick, there you are.“ 

The voice is very familiar; the smooth tone is not. Before Dick can ask what the fuck Jason is doing here, there’s a strong arm around his waist. It’s instinct, by now, to relax into it; the difficulty is that he’s supposed to be flirting with another man right now. 

Another warm body presses against his other side, and Roy grins when Dick looks at him. “Hey, Dickieboy. We missed you.” 

Amstell clears his throat. Jason and Roy startle as if they only just noticed him. It’s some pretty terrible acting. Dick has no idea why he loves these dorks so much. 

“Sorry, we’re being terribly rude.” Jason does not sound apologetic at all. “I’m Jason, and this is Roy Harper.” 

As if on cue, Roy’s arm slings over Dick’s shoulder, not pulling him away from Jason but pressing them all closer together. The possession in the gesture is unmistakable. It’s… nice. Dick’s body responds automatically, and before he knows his, he’s dropped his head against Roy’s shoulder, his hand coming up to grab Jason’s. 

(For a brief moment, Dick considers how ridiculous he must look between the two. Then he squashes that thought like a bug cause who the fuck cares?) 

Then Roy adds: “We’re his boyfriends. “

Which. Uh. Isn’t something they’ve ever said out loud, let alone _to anyone else_. A part of Dick is annoyed that _this_ is how they decide to come out: In order to annoy some rich asshole. 

…then again, that’s very on-brand. So that leaves only the rapidly rising flush on Dick’s cheeks and the pleased feeling he just can’t help. _Boyfriends._

“Well, then.” Amstell makes a show of checking his watch. “I suppose I should leave, anyway. There’s always more work to do as a CEO, you know.” 

“Have a good evening.” Dick gives him his best smile, but Amstell doesn’t look impressed as he turns away.

“C’mon, Dickie,” Roy murmurs, “let us take you home.” 

Dick figures that resistance is pointless, so he lets them herd him out of the room. Only when they are safely in his car, Alfred driving as discreetly as always, does he point out: “You know, I did actually have a reason to flirt with that guy.”

Jason nods. “Yes, you want him to take you home so you can check out the file cabinet behind the portrait of his mother.“ 

“Yeah, that’s—wait. “Dick pauses. Sighs. “How do you know which portrait it’s behind?“ 

“Cause he watched me while I opened the safe and stole the files. “Roy is grinning. “The lazy ass.“ 

“Excuse me, who figured out the code for his security system again?“ 

“Lucky guess.“ 

“Anyway, “Jason turns back to Dick. “The files are in my apartment, and you got a perfect alibi for the time of the break-in. I’ll bring them over once you’ve slept at least ten hours.“ 

“But I—” 

“Nope.“ Roy waggles a finger in his face. “We just saved you six hours of work. You’re gonna sleep.“ 

“It’s a weapons ring,“ Jason adds, voice going low and soft. Dick still isn’t used to that tone; he shivers a little every time it’s directed at him. “No one is gonna get hurt, even if you leave it till the morning, Dickie. “ 

And what can he do with that but agree? 

_Eight_

Jason opens his eyes and wishes he didn’t. 

Just seconds ago, there was laughter, ringing and ringing and ringing while the blows fell, while his body _hurt_ , and then—

Then the bomb went off. 

So where is he now? This is a recurring nightmare, he knows, but it’s so black around him. Usually, they don’t leave their bedroom fully dark, even if they actually go to sleep at night instead of the early morning hours. Maybe Roy’s invention short-circuited the power again? Still, there should be the sound of his partners’ breathing, their warmth, Dick’s little whistle on the exhale, Roy’s tendency to grope Jason in his sleep… 

Instead, it’s quiet, and a little chilly. 

Jason shivers. Scratch that. It’s _cold_. So cold that it’s settling in his bones, that it feels like he’ll never be able to move again, that he’s stuck here, that his body is not his own anymore, that he’s—that he’s dead. 

He’s dead. This is his coffin, and he’s dead. 

He wants to rage. Scream. Pummel his fists into the wood, claw his way out of the earth, out of his _grave_ —but he can’t move. He’s done it once before, Jason knows, so why _can’t he move_? 

Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling him how pointless his existence is.

The seconds tick by. Or maybe they aren’t seconds—maybe these are hours, days, weeks Jason can feel passing him by. Perhaps he’ll wake up and find that months have passed without his knowledge yet again, that everyone has moved on. 

If he wakes up, this time. 

(Does he even want to?) 

Around him, the earth begins to shake. Everything comes crashing down, pressing down on Jason, crushing him, and when he tries to open his eyes, he sees—

Roy. Dick. 

Their bedroom, bathed in perfect silence but for Jason’s panicked breathing. 

His breathing. He’s alive. He must be, right? Right?

When Jason stares at them, wide-eyed, Dick reaches out and turns on the light. All the lights. The bedroom is flooded and bright, and it hurts a little, but it also helps. 

“Can we touch you?” Roy asks. 

Jason doesn’t think about it, just nods. Immediately, Roy’s hands are framing his face, and he’s pressing kisses into his skin. “You’re here with us,” is all he says. 

Dick, too, reaches out, keeping his hand on Jason’s shoulder as he moves behind him, clearly telegraphing his every move. Jason feels him press kisses to his neck, Dick’s arms like a vice around his stomach. “You’re alive,” is what he chooses to murmur, and yeah, Dick always knows what’s happening, doesn’t he? 

Before they started this, Jason always imagined that it would feel claustrophobic, being surrounded by two bodies like this—that it would bring back memories. It doesn’t. 

“Please,” he murmurs into Roy’s hair, and he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. 

“Yes,” Roy says immediately, and Dick adds: “Anything. Everything.” 

It’s utterly nonsensical, and yet it helps. 

Roy went to sleep in a really fucking ugly tank top, the worst kinda mix of colors and prints, and its cheeriness seems incongruous to Jason, but… For some reason, that makes him think of the beach. Just two weeks ago, they went on a trip—just took the batplane and flew down South, towards the sun and the sea and a place where it doesn’t rain all the fucking time. 

Roy had whipped off his shirt to show off his newly-flat chest with such _glee_. Jason remembers the way the grin stretched across his own face. Dick, of course, used the opportunity to rub sunscreen on both of their backs (and fronts) with incredible attention to detail. Roy paid him back, and then Jason had to basically shield the two of them from the view of the other beachgoers when they got a bit… handsy.

“That’s better,” Roy whispers, dropping another kiss to Jason’s temple. With a start, Jason realizes that he started smiling—weakly, not because he feels like it, but because he can’t not smile when he thinks of days like that one. 

Dick’s fingers are shaking where they cradle Jason’s hips. Jason doesn’t think, just grabs one of them and pulls it up to his heart. It’s a reminder for the both of them, maybe. 

He’s alive. Roy is showering him with kisses, and Dick is holding him so close, and Jason—he’s not okay, not remotely, but he’s loved, and he’s alive. 

Come morning, he’ll be warm again. 

_Nine_

Roy has nothing to be nervous about. He knows that. Things with Olli have been _fine_. They’re both trying—Olli admittedly more than Roy—and it’s been alright. Good, even. Like family. 

It’s just been years since they had a big gathering like this. Extended family, friends, esteemed colleagues… _everyone_ will be there. He hasn’t seen most of them in, like, literal decades. It’s gonna be so fucking awkward.

On the bright side, though, Dick and Jason have agreed to come with him. They even got dressed up, looking all fancy-schmancy if laid-back enough for a family thing. Dick is good at that kinda stuff. Jay, Roy suspects, just likes the way Roy’s breath still catches whenever he sees him in a dress shirt. God, those shoulders. If Jason ever chooses to go the whole hog and wears a vest, Roy will have no choice but to spontaneously combust.

His interest doesn’t go unnoticed. Jason winks at him, and Roy is halfway across the room before he even thinks about it.

“Hands off,” Dick chides, though he adds: “…for now. I make no guarantees for when we come back.” 

Roy pouts. Hilariously, so does Jason. “Alright.” 

Dick shakes his head at both of them. “ _Later._ Okay, you got everything?” 

“Yeah, I’m all set.” 

“You sure you wanna bother with this?” Roys asks, more to Jay than to Dick, though Dick is the one that answers. 

“The invite was for all three of us, right? Would be rude not to show up now.” 

“We’re a package deal,“ Jason says, and Roy has known that to be true for years, but now it includes Dick, too. Which reminds him…

“There’s gonna be a lot of people there who might not be fine with all this.” He waves a hand, trying to include both himself, his two boyfriends, and just about everything about their lives. 

“Oh, yeah, we figured,” Jason nods. “If anyone starts shit—“ _misgendering you, insulting our relationship, whatever_ “—I brought the airhorn. “ 

“…you didn’t. “ 

Jason grins. It’s a wicked, slow thing. “Let’s hope we don’t find out. “

Roy throws a beseeching glance at Dick, only to be met with the exact same expression. Jesus, they’re in it together, aren’t they? Bats always have at least three back-up plans, after all. Roy can just see it now, second cousin Tina pulling her usual crap and Jason overhearing and—

…actually, you know what? If his boyfriends wanna go all ridiculously protective on him, Roy’s not gonna complain. 

He grins at them. “Well, if you say so… I’m definitely not complaining about the opportunity to show you off.” And hah, that gets a blush. They’re so easy. 

Roy’s burst of confidence lasts all the way to Oliver’s front door. 

“You ever gonna ring, babe?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Nope.” Dick slings an arm around Roy’s waist, and then he leans forward and presses the doorbell, the asshole. 

Olli opens the door so quickly (not to mention, in person) that Roy just knows he’s been watching them through the camera the whole time. “Roy! It’s good to see you.” 

Something in Roy’s chest loosens at Olli’s easy smile. “Yeah. You, too.” 

“And you two, of course,” Olli hastily adds, though Jason and Dick don’t look offended in the slightest. 

“Hi, Oliver.”—“Hey.” 

“Thanks for coming.” Roy expects Olli to wave them inside at that point. Instead, the older man hesitates. “People are pretty drunk already. If you want to leave early or something, just know I won’t be offended.” 

Roy knows he means it, too, which is nice. 

Dick opens his mouth, probably to give some kind of polite, reassuring answer, cause that’s just who he is. Jason, however, is quicker. “Duh. It won’t beat the time Bruce groped the police commissioner—who knew fully well that he’s Batman—and tried to justify it with the writings of Marx and Engels. You’re a disaster, but not _that_ bad.” 

Roy bites down on his lip. Jesus, Jay really can’t help himself, can he? Next to him, Dick winces. 

Olli’s grin, however, grows. “Dick? “ 

“…yeah? “Dick’s voice is the one of a man who has been asked to remove his unruly siblings and/or boyfriends and/or parental figures from the premises before. 

“I regret to inform you that you are no longer my favorite son-in-law. “ 

As they laugh, Olli reaches out and grabs Roy’s elbow, gently dragging him inside. “C’mon in, son. Let’s have a good evening, alright?“ 

And honestly? With Jay and Dick right behind him, Roy thinks he might. 

_Ten_

The morning dawns bright and early. Dick hates that so much. 

“You could just go back to sleep, Dickiebird.” 

Dick grumbles. “No, now I’m awake, thanks to you assholes.” 

Roy smiles, Jason laughs, and Dick just looks at them, content to be here. Mornings no longer start with the thought of work and cases and _why am I doing this_. Instead, there’s laughter, and anticipation, and a day to look forward to even if it ends in blood spilled on the pavement once again. 

There will be a fond sigh when Roy watches his neat freak of a boyfriend tell them they need to shower, and the just-as-neurotic-but-differently one agrees after a hesitant sniff. As if they didn’t shower when they got home from patrol. Even Roy doesn’t like to go to sleep covered in blood and sweat. 

(Unless it’s the good kind. Which, uh, had sorta happened after the shower yesterday. Maybe they have a point.)

They’ll shower, one after the other, though when Roy stretches his arms over his head, trying to get at that knot of tension under his left shoulder that never seems to leave, Jason will be there to offer a massage and Dick to rub ointment on it later. They take care of each other. 

After the shower, Jason will make some pancakes, just because he can and because Roy laughs when he makes them dick-shaped for Dick. Dick pouts even as he eats whatever Jason puts in front of him. The pancakes are thin and rich in taste, made with yeast and served with butter, cinnamon, and sugar, just like Catherine taught him. 

It’s an act of service, sure, but more importantly, it’s a tether to this life. The taste, the smell, the sizzle of the pan, and the low voices of his lovers—Jason never wants to forget this. 

The sun is shining, and for once, it feels like it’ll never set again. 


End file.
